


Enigma of the Bassist (A John Deacon Fanfiction)

by vampireluph



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-29 03:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16736544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireluph/pseuds/vampireluph
Summary: With the flamboyant and captivating aura on that of Queen's frontman, the light of a certain quiet bassist was shrouded by shadow and mystery. Known for living in a normal, boring life, John Richard Deacon was certainly a mystery man. But who would've thought that under his calming and quiet features lied something which no one would have ever dreamt of? What skeleton was hidden under John's bed?





	1. After Party

** Chapter 1 – After Party **

The year was 1975. Inside a pub in central London, Queen was again celebrating their success on yet another huge concert on their newest album, A Night at the Opera. The party was as lavish as their regal name plastered on every music shop or billboard that you could see around town.

Champagne, beer, wine, drugs, you name it, they had it. The disco music was blaring from the speakers installed in the building. The lads, mainly from the band's crew, was dancing and singing their hearts out, seemingly drunk and was on cloud seven. You can even spot lots of them snogging and making out in the corner, where the lights of the disco lamps left them mostly alone.

Again, it was not a Queen's party if there was no stripper involved. Living up to their reputation, a group of stripper was flanking their breasts and hips out in the open for the public to see; further increasing the gusto of the hungry men who ogled the girls with lust-induced eyes... and pants.

Even Brian May, the "scientist" of the band, also the one that usually kept a strict health plan on his lanky form, could be spotted drinking from a bottle of brandy as if his life was depended on it. The blonde drummer, Roger Taylor was also seen smiling and once in a while winking his eyes with a bunch of girls in his arms. And their flamboyant front man, Freddie Mercury, was as usual became the centre of attention, entertaining his guests with his vulgar jokes; especially in his drunken state of mind. All in all everyone seemed to have a lot of fun in that crazy night.

Well, nearly everyone.

But if one was sober enough and took a look closer, they could find a lone figure sitting in the corner bar, where no one paid any attention to him. John Deacon would prefer to be left alone, anyway. He was not exactly the type of guy who could actually ENJOY the life of being a rock star. As one of the press said about him before, John was an "accidental rock star"; well, they were right about that one fact. He'd prefer to stay away from the limelight anyway, and doing something more intimate that only him and a ... certain someone that he left earlier in his house knew about their secret activity.

John smirked mysteriously while holding a glass of Bourbon in his hand, thinking of the helpless girl that was chained in his bed since this evening before he headed to their gig. A flash of earlier event passed through his mind, the way she fruitlessly struggled against his hold when he pinned her arms down above her head and fastened the cuffs which he secretly installed yesterday.

Despite his slim figure, John was actually much stronger than he looked. Years of loading and unloading the band's kits had helped John to strengthen his muscles. It was back when Queen was nothing but a speck of dust in the rock 'n roll world. The little kitten stood no chance against him.

John sipped the remaining Bourbon in his glass, quietly glancing at his watch. It was past midnight already. His poor little victim must have been asleep by now... or maybe was still laying awake, for John knew perfectly well that he had specifically instructed her to wait for his arrival after the concert, kissing her temple and then walked out of his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He left his mansion soon after and joined his band for a night of rocking.

He decided to call it a night and left the party early, just because the image of her bound in bed, helpless and struggling had made his pants felt uncomfortably tight. He had to do something about it, and soon.

John put the drink back in the counter and put aside some gracious quids for the bartender. He was thankful that he got a quiet bartender, someone who respected his privacy and left him mainly alone aside from asking him about his choice of drinks. He was down by a few shots now and John felt a little bit tipsy when he was on his feet and looking for the door.  
John was almost reached the exit when the voice from one of his band members called out to him.

"Deacy! Where are you off to? The party was just getting started," Asked a high, raspy voice that belonged to none other than Mr Ladies man himself.

"I'm going home, Roger. I feel a little bit under the weather after the gig, I'm afraid," replied John, technically wasn't lying. His hardened cock was now straining so much inside his pants that he needed it to be 'fixed', asap.

"Aww you're no fun, John! Can't you stay for a while longer? We haven't even popped the fireworks yet," begged Roger, who, apparently still cared whether John was having fun in the party or not.

That's nice to know, John thought in his head. But John, as aloof as he might appear to the public, was still a man who was in need of a release.

He subtly tried to hide his bulging erection with his coat that he held in front of his body. Thank God for chilly weather, he chuckled in his mind.

"Sorry, mate. But I really need to get going now. I didn't get much sleep last night and the last thing I need is to see a bloody firework," John said, his tone was getting impatient by the seconds.

Sensing that his persuasion was futile, Roger shrugged his shoulder and gave up. He knew how impossible it was to change the bassist's mind once he had made a decision. Quiet that he was, you don't want to get in John Deacon's wrong side. He was a force to be reckoned with.

"Alright, fine. You take care of yourself, okay?" Roger said while tousling his hair. "I'll see you on Monday at the studio, then?"

Oh, took care of himself he would. "Alright. Say bye for Freddie and Brian from me," John said his goodbye and headed out, silently eager to escape Roger and the whole party.

As soon as he got in his car, John stepped on the gas and went back to his grand mansion, where a defenseless victim had been waiting for him to free her from her shackles.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2 - Hot Lemon Tea

**Chapter 2 – Hot Lemon Tea**

Mia Reynolds sighed in frustration for what seemed like a hundred times that night. She once again tugged weakly at the chain that bound her tiny hands in the bedpost where she was restrained by a certain long-haired bassist hours ago. It was futile attempt, of course. The chain wouldn’t budge even a little at her struggle to release her aching wrists and get out from this bloody place.

Yes, that’s right. Even though by miracle she could manage to free herself from the restraints, Mia still had to pick the lock on the bedroom door which she heard was locked when he left her earlier to her misery. And not to forget the high-security system that he had installed to this place so that anyone who trespassed to and from the front gates would be electrocuted if he didn’t turn off the safety system himself, he told Mia; a subtle warning to say that it was wise for her to abandon foolish hopes to running away.

All Mia could do for the time being was mulling how she could end up in a situation like this over and over again. Now she was in a clutch of some man with no way to escape, for he had hold Mia’s deepest secret, dangling it metaphorically in front of her as a reminder that she could not get out from this easily.

It all happened 3 months ago after summer’s holiday.

Mia Reynolds was an ordinary Catholic girl from a small village in England. At age 20, about a year ago, she moved to London where she pursued her master’s degree at King’s College. English was her strongest subject in school, and her passion in learning literature was what driven her to pursue her degree in literature.

To support her financial income, Mia worked as a waitress in a local pub near her college where a lot of bands were frequenting the place for a pint of beer. She did not care much about band; hate them, in fact, as she thought that they were noisy bunch of people who thought they were equal to Hendrix or Zeppelin’s level.

She always shook her head in amusement every time she heard some of the drunken customers boasted their ability to play their instruments better than Hendrix or Bonham, or sing better than Lennon. It’s good to idolise artists, but thinking arrogantly enough that one is better than these Rock Legends was a total turnoff. That’s why she vowed to never end up with a guy who was in a band. She soon came to regret her vow.

Having a slender and petite figure of only 5’2 feet made her look like an easy target to some jerks that were their customers. Some of them were brave enough to harass her either by when she was sauntering around the bar, bringing out orders from the kitchen. But being the fiery soul that she was, Mia would told the guy off or even pinched those lechers’ hand with her elongated nails and made them winch in pain if they went as far as tried to touch her; all with a sweet smile on her face. Confidently holding her head high, she then waltzed on with an effortless saunter like nothing had happened. That usually did the trick, but unfortunately not that night.

It was usual weekday like any other. The Porter Brewhouse, the pub where Mia worked, was buzzing with customers, although not as crowded as it was during the weekend. These people were basically came and went, usually not staying for too long for they either had work the next day or had had enough to drink for one night. Tinkling of glasses, scraping sound of cutlery against the plates could occasionally be heard around the tavern, and Mia was taking orders from the clients.

There was a young man sitting alone in one of the corner tables, waiting his order to be taken. He was a regular, Mia noticed. She’d served him three or four times before, if her memory served her right. Always alone, never bringing a company over, and he always came during the weekday, never at weekend. Maybe he was single, recently divorced, or perhaps he enjoyed being alone here in the Tavern; Anna heartily agreed as the atmosphere of this tavern was usually calm on weekdays as it was not too crowded. But still, it was strange for a man his age that certainly wasn’t bad looking at all to never bring any company, she pondered.

Mia silently slapped herself in her head. Why did she have to over think about everything too much? She was that kind of person who sometimes noticed even the tiniest details around her and usually ended up making herself crazy although in the end it was nothing.

As it was the style around 70’s, this slim fellow had long, brown, slightly curly hair that passed his shoulder. Judging from his bent legs that reached the opposite side of the dinner table, he was rather tall, it seemed. What caught Mia’s attention were his eyes, though; his surprisingly dark-green orbs that always looked at Mia’s own eyes with almost no emotion during their brief chats to order things, but somehow stayed for a few seconds too long.

Shrugging her silly thoughts away, she approached her client with a notepad in her hands. Mia smiled cheerfully at him, “Good evening, welcome back to Porter Brewhouse. I’m Mia at your service. How may I take your order, sir? Our special today is…,” Mia kept sprouting off their menu for the quiet man, not knowing that he was observing her silently like a hawk since he came inside the restaurant. Unbeknownst to Anna, he noticed the way this girl said “welcome back”. So she did remember him, he thought.

“I’ll take the fish ‘n chip with a glass of hot lemon tea. One sugar, please” the man said, looking straight at Mia in her eyes with a flat yet firm voice. His voice was deep with a hint of nasal sound.

“Is there anything else… sir?” Asked Mia hesitantly and took note of his order, telling him to wait for a moment and putting his order to the kitchen.

“That’ll be all, thank you,” he answered, never taking off his eyes from Mia’s blue ones even after she’d left. Her stomach automatically fluttered. This person certainly did look familiar, aside from having him around for a few times, but Mia couldn’t put it where.

Around 20 minutes later, the meal was ready and she dutifully put them in a tray and carried them in both of her hands, walking carefully as the place was getting rather crowded then with some new customers in the bar side of the pub. One of them was a group of five over-built men.

Most of them dressed in torn-jeans pants and ragged-looking tank top covered with clearly second-hand leather jackets, making them look hideous and, let’s be honest, obnoxious than they already were. And by looking at their flushed faces and unfocused eyes, they were already drunk, some of them even shouting out loud, demanding Tim, her lanky colleague and also the bartender, for another shot of Tequila, Gin, or whatever those alcoholic drinks called.

Here we go again with these kinds of punk people, Mia rolled her eyes sarcastically. Usually they would show up on weekends and act as rude as wild elephants on a party. She knew from past experiences.

And worst of all, they were still customers so she couldn’t just be rude to them otherwise Mr Hatfield, the owner of the tavern would give her stinky eyes for a week.

Just smile politely, and they will leave you alone, Mia thought while tried to stroll past them as casually as possible.

“Oy, little birdie. What’s the rush? You should join us for a drink!” One of them shouted. Mia flinched.

“Yeah, you’ve got a nice bootie for a wee lady,” the other said while the rest of them laughed at his vulgar joke.

“Come ‘ere and show us what you’ve got underneath those tight skirts of yours!!”

As of now, one of them even grabbed Mia roughly. She yelped in surprise.

“Sir, do let me go, I will take your order in a minute,” she said as calmly as she could. She wanted to remove the man’s hand that was still grabbing her arm too tightly for her liking, but she got the tray on her hands so she could only tell the guy to let her go.

Instead of letting Mia go, however, one of the guys with the shades over his eyes that was closest to her put his hand on her thigh and quickly reached her knickers.

“What the f—k are you doing? Get your filthy hands off me!”

Couldn’t take it anymore, Mia shouted at these lechers in anger and kicked her foot blindly; accidentally knocked the tray in her hands. Hot lemon tea spilled all over the groper’s head. The sound of cutleries crashing to the tiled floor along with a scream of pain could be heard around the entire pub and made all the people inside turned their attentions to see what had caused the commotion, including a certain young bassist who was waiting for his food to arrive.

“B---ch!! How dare you!” Screamed the-now-soaked drunkard with all sorts of profanities coming out from his large, slightly swollen mouth. All of his friends were now surrounding Mia with a clear intent to do something bad to her. She gazed at them in fear but still tried to maintain her dignity by holding her head high. She would not apologize to these lunatics although she silently trembled, eyes darting for help. What pained her more was that none of the other customers or Tim even came to her aid. They looked as equally terrified as her to even try intervening and help her.

The lemon tea man, as Mia would from then on call him, instantly got up from his stool and grabbed Mia by the hair, yanking it roughly to his face. She screamed loudly, holding the man’s arm in hoping to lessen the pain that he had caused to no avail.

He whispered in her ears, “Listen, wh—re, we’re going to kill you slowly until you beg for a quick death.”

“Let go of me you son of a b----h! Argh!!” Mia was kicking and screaming with all her might. These men were laughing cruelly at her misery and started to drag her away from the pub, that one guy was pulling her by the hair.

All hopes were evaporating quickly. Somebody, anybody, help me! Mia screamed in her head.

“I strongly advise you to let her go before the police come and arrest your sorry arses you call life into jail,” the now-familiar nasal voice that Mia had least expected said calmly but with a total authoritative tone. Mia looked up to first see a pair of black-monk shoes that adorned the long-legged man in front of her.

To be continued...

 

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea of this story came in a sudden during dinner tonight. 
> 
> For my readers: What do you think? Should I continue? Leave a comment and let me know ;)


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